The Birds and the Tease
by PrincessVenture
Summary: Ally's dad doesn't seem to understand the concept of a normal wedding present for his daughter and her fiancé: He gives them gift certificates to a rather...peculiar class on "the birds and the bees." Rather peculiar, indeed. / In which Ally's a tease and Austin loves-hates it. Rewritten, smutty three-shot. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** All right, guys. If you remember me from a few months ago (or more recently, if you've stumbled across one of my other stories), I wrote a PSA called "Myth Busting for M-Rated Fics." It originally wasn't meant to be a story, but after receiving quite a few complaints, I've been talked into revising it. Now it is one. **I'm probably going to keep the original post up even after I finish this one though, just so readers who want to know the information can access it without having to read the smut in this one.** For this rewrite, I haven't changed any of the informative content, just added an actual plotline. So this will be less sex-ed for Austin and Ally and more…how do I put it delicately? ...heavy petting.

You're welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Austin & Ally_.

**Warning:** **NSFW**. This is a really weird fic, probably the weirdest fourth-wall-breaking story thingy I've ever written in my life. **If you are in any way uncomfortable with smut, or frank discussions about sex and the anatomy of the female reproductive system, this is your chance to gracefully bow out.**

(Seriously, don't read any further if you're going to get uncomfortable with having your illusions and expectations of sex shattered. To exit, you can click that nifty little "back" button on your browser or hit Ctrl + W.)

* * *

**The Birds and the Tease  
****1/3**

* * *

"Wait, so do I turn left here or at the next one?"

"It says turn left onto Cedar Lane."

"These signs are all covered in dust. It's like no one's been here in the last hundred years or something."

Right on cue, a gap in the clouds suddenly lets out a single ray of sunlight. Like a beacon or some kind of spotlight, it hits one of the street signs, illuminating the unmistakable lettering: CEDAR LN

Austin shrugs and makes a left turn.

Moments later, storm clouds roll over the area, and visibility—already reduced by the canopy of gnarly old trees and the weird twists and turns the dirt road takes to circumvent them—becomes near-zero. Turning on the headlights doesn't help much.

From the passenger seat, Ally lets out an "uh-oh."

"Don't tell me—"

"We just lost the GPS signal."

"_Called_ it!"

Ally's already ruffling through the glove compartment. "Well, then. It's a good thing I still keep a map in here somewhere…"

"You would."

"Found it!" She waves it triumphantly, then starts to scan the tiny print for their location. "Let's see…we took the interstate, then exited right…then turned onto Wendover…and then went straight for about ten miles…and…uh-oh."

"What now?"

"This must be a _really_ outdated map. There's no 'Cedar Lane' on here."

"_Fuck._"

* * *

Back when they'd first met, if anyone had asked Austin and Ally whether they could see themselves becoming "a thing," the answer probably would have been "_Ha!_"

And "_no._" No, they couldn't.

That would be weird.

And yet, fast forward nine years, at age twenty-four they've become what you'd call the hottest duo in the music biz, with multiple triple-platinum albums to their names and the recent success of their third sold-out international tour. The paparazzi follow them everywhere in Miami, and their faces are plastered on billboards across the nation, and there isn't a radio station between Maine and California that doesn't get hundreds of requests daily for one of their hits, and pretty much every teenage girl on Tumblr goes absolutely bananas every time anything about the duo pops up on her dash.

Because they're _Austin&Ally_—with a treble clef in place of the ampersand and no spaces, mind you.

And who doesn't love that classic story about two best friends falling in love?

Getting to where they were now hadn't entirely been smooth sailing, though. After their high school graduation, Ally had put her still-fledgling career on hold to attend college at MUNY, while Austin stayed with Starr Records in Miami. Their relationship survived long-distance, as everyone had predicted, but a few months after Ally returned from New York, Ramone Records went under, and for a while it seemed that she had made a serious mistake in deciding to spend four years in college instead of building up a more solid fan base. Indeed, mentioning Ally Dawson's name to even the most avid Austin Moon was most often met with a puzzled stare, followed by "Wait, his girlfriend's a _singer_?"

It didn't help that the music scene had gotten much more crowded and competitive during her four-year hiatus. After her demo was rejected by a fifth record company, Ally had started to seriously consider just taking over Sonic Boom from her father and resigning herself to "Forgotten Could-Have-Been Who Never Quite Took Off" status. She'd never desired to go into music for the glitz and glamour anyway, preferring to make music purely for the sake of making music, but pragmatic concerns about the financial impact of writing music as a hobby while freeloading in her father's basement weren't exactly unfounded. Her degree from MUNY had come with a full ride, but without a record deal or any real means of income, there was no way she would be able to afford going back to school for a more practical degree.

…And then, in a move that Ally still wasn't quite sure was a stroke of lucky idiocy or pure genius, Austin had terminated his contract with Starr Records out of the blue, sparking a media frenzy. The speculation surrounding his motives for quitting ranged from reports that the record company had allegedly rejected Ally's demo to rumors that America's blonde heartthrob singer was going into rehab.

Then, after a few days of lying low, Austin managed to talk Ally into performing a new duet they'd written together for a charity concert. Thanks to the media buzz that still had yet to die down, it only took a few hours for their performance to go viral on MyTewb.

A few weeks later, they were signed to a new label, this time with a big-name record company based in Los Angeles. Then they packed up, bid farewell to their friends and family in Miami, and moved across the country to the mecca of the entertainment industry.

The rest was history.

And then a year ago, Austin proposed the night of their six-year anniversary, over a picnic dinner of pickles and pancakes in the park. And really, Ally probably should have seen it coming _before_ he went down on one knee—after all, he'd serenaded her with a slowed-down, acoustic rendition of "Timeless" and then told her how happy she'd made him in the six years they'd been together. In her defense, though, she might have been a tad distracted by how the look in his eyes as he sang to her still managed to make her weak in the knees. She might also have been laughing too hard to suspect anything, when he nervously fumbled for the right words and accidently blurted that she was the cuckoo clock to his Owen. (Austin preferred to go with the former excuse.)

At any rate, Ally managed to recover enough from her shock to squeak out a _"yes!" _And after they'd called up Trish, Dez, and both sets of parents to share the news, their first selfie as an engaged couple actually broke Tweeter with the sheer number of retwits it received.

Eleven months later, the wedding was planned and fast approaching, and everyone they knew and cared about was going to fly out to LA for it, and they were bursting with excitement and couldn't be happier.

So it kind of caught them both off guard when they visited Miami for Ally's father's birthday, and, citing the practical uselessness of silver candlesticks and martini sets, Lester presented them with _his_ wedding gift: a gift certificate…for a sex-ed class.

Austin would have protested that both he and Ally had already taken Health back in public high school. And they'd been dating for seven years and living together for nearly three years now, so it wasn't exactly a secret that they didn't do more than just hug and hold hands. Did Lester _really_ think they didn't know their way around the, ah, equipment yet?

Evidently, yes.

His future father-in-law had insisted that this class was "really important to take before your wedding night—trust me, I wish it had been available when Ally's mother and I…" and Austin had wisely decided to hold his tongue.

Firstly, because he was already making a mental note to invest in some industrial-grade detergent for his ears and his brain, as Lester launched into the tale of how he and Penny had fumbled around awkwardly for a majority of the night, and… Yeah, having to listen to the story of his fiancée's conception was _just a tad uncomfortable_…

And secondly, because Lester didn't _need_ to know that there was no need to prepare them for a potentially awkward first time. The very night after they'd moved into their new house in LA, Austin returned from picking up some Chinese takeout to find a completely naked Ally sitting on the edge of his (soon to be _their_) bed and waiting for him. And it really hadn't been that bad for a first time. Like, at all. Their dinner had long since gone cold by the time they'd finished and made their way out to the kitchen, but Austin was getting a little tired of General Tso's Chicken anyway. Ally, on the other hand, he was pretty sure he would never get enough of. Ever.

So yeah, the possibility of getting castrated by his soon-to-be father-in-law a month before his wedding night wasn't particularly appealing.

…And that's why Austin and Ally are currently driving on an abandoned dirt road in the middle of a creepy forest, about to attend one last premarital sex-ed class.

That is, if they can find the place first…

* * *

"The certificate says the class is being held at 6531 Cedar Lane. I guess now we just follow the road until we get there? Or should we pull over and ask for directions?"

"_Ally_, we're in the middle of a _forest_. Who's going to give us directions—the squirrels?"

"…Follow the road it is."

…

"Remind me again why we're doing this?"

"…Because my dad was ecstatic when he found out that they're teaching this class _for free_, and it would be a waste not to go?"

"Come on, it's just a sex-ed class! Does he really think we don't know how these things work at this point? Does he honestly think we're waiting until the wedding night or something?"

"I guess so. But my point still stands. It would really hurt my dad's feelings if we don't go. Besides, the website looked legitimate enough, and they have a near-perfect five-star rating."

"_Please_. Near-perfect? If I recall correctly, you've given me 'a million stars out of five' before, and I've been your _tutor_ since we were—"

"_Austin!_"

"It's true!"

"Remind me again why I'm marrying you…?"

"Because I'm 'an absolute _god_ in bed.' Your words."

"_Austin!_"

"And because you love me. You love me _so, so, so much._"

"My voice does _not_ sound like that! I hate you. You're the worst."

"That's not what you said last night."

"_Austin!_"

* * *

"Seriously, we've been driving on this road for twenty minutes, and there's still no sign of a building or anything. I think we're lost. Can't we just turn around and go home now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because we've already used up a quarter tank of gas getting here. On a _Prius_. It would be a waste of time _and_ gas to turn around now."

"Oh my god, Ally, I think you're turning into your dad."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"…Yeah, I'm just gonna ignore that. Seriously, let's just pull over, and I'll teach you—_hands-on!_—everything this class could possibly offer."

"We're _not_ doing it in the backseat of my car in the middle of the woods."

"You say that _now_, but I think you're forgetting that I'm _very_ good at changing your mind…"

"_Both hands on the steering wheel, mister!_"

"All right, all right! But can we call someone and ask if there's a motel nearby?"

"Even if we manage to find cell service out here, do you _really_ want the whole world knowing that Austin Moon got lost in the woods while on his way to a _sex-ed class_?"

"…Okay, that was just mean."

* * *

It only takes another half hour, but they eventually take a particularly sharp right turn and find the place. It's a modern-ish three-story building with huge glass windows, quite out of place among the creepy-looking trees in this equally creepy-looking forest.

* * *

"People actually write _fan fiction_ about us?"

They're sitting in the very back row of the room designated as the class location on the registration certificate. Space was limited on the gift certificate, but thanks to the syllabi that have been laid out on the tables, they're currently seeing the full description of the lecture for the first time.

"_Myth Busting for M-Rated Fics: A 90-minute crash-course on physiologically-correct anatomy for any writer on the Austin & Ally fandom planning to write a smutty M-rated fic. Instructor will be taking questions for the second 45 minutes of the course…"_

"Why on earth would your dad sign us up for a class like _this_? Never mind that—how did he even _find out_ about this?"

Ally shrugs, equally dumbfounded. "I guess this was what he meant when he said this isn't your average sex-ed class."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not that into learning about the porn people write about us. Especially if it's so bad that they had to start a class on how not to write 'anatomically incorrect' porn. Can we leave now?"

"But what if we miss something really important that my dad's going to quiz us on?"

"…Are you even hearing yourself?"

"Come on, it can't be _that_ bad. What if there _is_ stuff we wished we'd learned before we, uh, did it for the first time?"

"You're impossible. Just the fact that we're sitting in a room full of people _who read and write about us having sex_ is making me really twitchy."

"Um…they didn't even let people into the room without making sure they're wearing hats and sunglasses. And we're both wearing name tags that read, 'Hello, my alias is _Guest_,' like half the other people in here. And we're sitting in the _back_ of the room. No one's going to recognize us."

"Being stuck in a room full of people wearing hats and shades indoors makes me really twitchy, too."

"If you keep complaining, you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"No fair! You still owe me for dragging me out here!"

At that moment the course instructor walks into the room and clips a microphone to the collar of her white lab coat, and conversation in the room instantly dies down as everyone looks up curiously at the famed five-star myth buster.

She looks about twenty-something. Small. Dark-haired. Probably at least part-Asian of some sort. Her name tag is too small to read from where Austin and Ally are, but she promptly writes something on the chalkboard and starts speaking.

"Hi, everyone. Since we're all using aliases, I'm going to go by 'PrincessVenture.' Here's my contact information. Like it says on the syllabus, I'm going to be taking questions from audience members during the second half of the class after the fifteen-minute break. But if you feel uncomfortable asking during class, you can always shoot me a private message.

"So. If you're sitting in this room, it's most likely because the name of the course grabbed your attention when you were wandering down the halls and wondering which class to sit in on. As for why _I'm_ here…well, often I'll see M-rated fics in which Austin and Ally engage in… (Dang it, who let the small children in here?)…sexual activities, usually with Ally losing her virginity. And the process of losing said virginity apparently always involves a significant amount of pain, as well as something about Austin forcing through and breaking her 'barrier.' These stories aren't _bad_ (a lot of them are actually decently written), but they're anatomically inaccurate. And as a young adult going into the biomedical field, I'm starting to go bonkers when I see fics that misleadingly portray sexuality and anatomy, which then cause less experienced writers to assume that this is how things work and then perpetuate these myths in their own stories."

She pauses then, scanning the various people seated in the classroom. "Yeah…we're going to have to do something about the kids in here… All right, in case you missed the _bolded sign_ posted on the door of this room on your way in, **if you are in any way uncomfortable with frank discussions about sex and the anatomy of the female reproductive system, this is your chance to gracefully bow out.**"

(Cue mass exodus of various fan fiction writers. Austin looks hopefully at Ally, but she just rolls her eyes and stays put.)

"…Also, before we begin, I want to make clear that this is _not_ an intro-level sex-ed class. All of you here should _at least_ know the basics of, well, _what_ sex is. So if you're not aware that babies are _not_ delivered by a stork and if you don't know what goes where or what a badger burrowing into its hole means, you are _really_ in the wrong class…"

_Cricket-chirp_.

"…and there's the door."

(One more person, probably a ten-year-old girl, gets out of her seat and scurries out to freedom.)

"Okay, now that we've got the grandmas, the popes, _and_ the prepubescents out of the room, we can talk about 'virginity.'

"There are a lot of different definitions for 'losing' one's virginity. Some say a girl loses her virginity when she engages in any kind of sexual contact (so...basically reaching third base), while others claim she's a virgin until she engages in _intercourse specifically._ But then that just opens an entire can of worms about pinning a girl's value on whether or not she has had sex, and _that_ opens the door to slut-shaming. _So let's not go there._ Here, for the sake of argument, I'm going to stick to the medical definition of virginity…"

From her periphery, Ally notices Austin sliding a note in front of her.

_Considering neither of us has been a virgin in years, I'm pretty sure we already know everything we need to know. Can we go home now?_

She sighs and shakes her head, the necklace he'd given her for their one-year anniversary dancing against the skin of her collarbone, exposed by the…rather low neckline of her blouse. She shifts a little to fold her arms on the table, and Austin catches a glimpse of something black and lacy.

He gulps.

"…Most people have the concept that there's this membrane of tissue, called a _hymen_ located 'somewhere' (and it's sort of nebulous when it comes to figuring out where exactly it is) inside the vagina, and that a girl loses her virginity when this hymen thingy is broken or torn or popped, hence slang such as 'popping her cherry.' In reality, the hymen is a piece of tissue located _just_ inside the vaginal opening. It's actually more so on the outside of the vagina than the inside. Assuming you're a girl, you can physically _see_ the thing if you prop a mirror between your knees, the way your pediatrician or primary care physician probably recommended. It'll appear as a pink-ish bit of tissue just inside the 'lips' of the opening, and it has a little hole in it called the _corona_.

"The corona is a different size and shape for everyone. Infants are born with their hymen intact—no corona—but as girls grow up and reach adolescence, the membrane will thin out and wear down until a corona forms. Some girls will have larger coronas, so it will hurt less when they lose their virginity. I have one friend who said it didn't hurt at all her first time. Other girls have 'microperforated' hymens (ones with really small coronas) or 'septate' hymens (where the corona is actually two small holes next to each other, separated by a small piece of the hymen) and may find it difficult to insert even a slim tampon. There are surgical procedures that can correct for these because they can be a problem.

"So, yes, there _is_ a hymen located inside the vagina. But it's not as deep in there as you might have thought. Rather, it's _right there_. It is literally attached to and partially covers the opening. The pain from losing one's virginity comes from the fact that the corona is usually smaller than the diameter of the penis, and it's kind of hard to fit something through an opening that's smaller than the thing you're trying to force through. _So please stop writing about Austin fitting in about six inches before he hits a 'barrier' and then forces through it. _There's no other 'barrier' back there, except the cervix. But we'll cover more on that later if you guys want."

Ally sighs as something starts repeatedly poking her elbow. Another note.

_Who are these people, and what makes them think they know how our first time went down?_

Sneaking a quick glance at the lecturer (because she's Ally Dawson, and Ally Dawson has never condoned passing notes in school), she writes in reply, _Weren't you paying attention, Austin? These are fan __fiction__ writers. Which, by definition, means they don't know how it went._

_Whatever. Can we go home now?_

_How about we make a deal?_

_?_

_If you quit complaining and asking to go home, I'll…_

_You'll what?_

_I'll __treat__ you._

"…Also, the hymen is not supposed to be intact. The corona's there for a reason. Think about it: The vagina is a self-cleansing organ. How does it expel unwanted 'stuff'—how the heck would a girl be able to menstruate—if there's no egress (the corona) for the fluid to flow out? So technically, there's no 'popping' going on when a girl loses her virginity, since the hymen is not some kind of airtight sealing…"

_And if I don't quit complaining?_

The smirk on Austin's face quickly fades as Ally "accidentally" drops her pencil on the floor and leans over to retrieve it, giving him an eyeful of exactly what is under her blouse. Then she places a hand on his knee to hoist herself up from the floor.

"Then I guess you'll sleep on the couch tonight," she whispers, drawing her fingers toward his inner thigh.

Austin gulps. "Y-yeah? I can live with that."

"Oh, really?"

Her hand lightly brushes the already growing bulge in his pants. He lets out a not-so-dignified squeak.

The lecture continues, and Ally turns back to the front of the room, looking every bit the innocent star pupil she'd been in high school. Austin grips the edges of his seat and tries his darnedest to ignore the hand teasing him through two layers of fabric. She's languidly tracing circular patterns against the head of his erection, but her touch is feather-light and only gets lighter every time he squirms or bucks his hips into her hand.

"…While it's true that the pain from losing one's virginity comes from the fact that something bigger is being pushed through the corona, a normal hymen is not supposed to be torn. There's no tearing going on unless the hymen is unusually fragile. Rather, the pain comes from the corona being forced open and stretched. Some girls compare it to a rubber band being stretched tight. You do not lose your hymen when you lose your 'virginity.' The hymen stays a part of you; the corona just gets bigger…"

"Easy, tiger," Ally whispers, suddenly digging the heel of her palm into him. He bites the insides of his cheeks to contain a gasp. "You're breathing a little hard. Maybe you should get up and walk around a little when it's time for break. Get some fresh air." Through his pants, he feels her fingernails slowly traveling up and down the length of his shaft, and his knuckles whiten a little more.

"I can't believe this," he mutters.

"I know, right? This class is amazing! Isn't it _great_ that my dad signed us up?"

"I can't believe you're making me sit through a _sex-ed class _ and teasing me under the table in the middle of—"

"We really do need to thank him for this. After the wedding night, of course." She drags her nails back down his length, wrapping her hand firmly around the head, and his protests dissolve into a strangled yelp.

The instructor's still talking, completely oblivious to his torment.

"Now that we've cleared that up, I feel like we should also talk about the G spot. There's still some controversy as to whether it actually exists or whether women who believe they have found theirs only think so because they've been led to believe it exists. Those who subscribe to its existence usually agree that it's located somewhere 1.5 to 3 inches inside, on the front wall, and it's not sensitive for every woman. It is not a 'magic button.' Furthermore…"

She trails off, and all heads in the audience swivel around in surprise as a "Guest" sitting in the back row abruptly stands up, the legs of the table screeching in protest against the floor as he kicks it away, before making a beeline for the door.

"…Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any for you folks to take your bathroom breaks. Let's see, it is currently…two-forty. Eh, close enough. Tell you what, come back in twenty minutes so we can start the second half of this class, and I'll take any questions you have, okay?"

* * *

**A/N:** First chapter's the humor part. Second chapter will be smuttier.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Sorry this is a little late. I forgot to warn y'all that I'm really bad at updating on weekends. Thanks to everyone for the reviews, follows, and favorites. You guys are amazing.

Anyway, here's Part 2. First part is smutty; second part is Q&A. Last little bit leads into Chapter 3. Usual disclaimer applies.

**If you are in any way uncomfortable with smut or frank discussions about sex and female reproductive anatomy, please do not read further.**

* * *

**The Birds and the Tease  
2/3**

* * *

She catches up with him as he's striding across the parking lot toward the car.

"Hey, I've been looking all over for you," she pants. "Where've you been?"

"The bathroom."

Understanding lights up across her face, followed by a smirk. "I see…"

"Yeah well, you weren't going to let me finish, so _someone_ had to take charge." He points a finger at her accusingly. "And I'm not going to let go of this for a while, Dawson."

"But that's no fun," she pouts. She blocks his hand as he reaches for the car keys in his pocket.

"Aw, come on!"

"Nope, Austin, we're going to sit through the next forty-five minutes of class, and _then_ we can go home."

To drive her point home (no pun intended), she confiscates his keys, reaching into his pocket and accidentally-but-probably-on-purpose skimming her fingers against him through his jeans.

Her touch lingers, and he forces himself to jerk away, dislodging her hand from his pocket. "You're mean."

And then her expression turns innocent. "I'm sorry, Austin."

"No, you're not."

"…But you'll forgive me anyway, right?" She nods her head in the direction of his crotch, where it's become rather obvious that he's already semi-hard again.

From just _one_ effing brush of her fingers, too.

He glowers, but it wavers as soon as she rises on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. And then he tries to stare her down, but she's smiling sunnily up at him, and it's not long before he feels the corners of his frown tugging upwards. It's difficult for one to look angry when the situation in one's pants clearly disagrees.

He almost gives in when she looks like she's about to say something, thinks better of it, and then bites her lip instead.

Crap. Big brown hopeful puppy eyes.

Austin groans in frustration and presses his forehead to the window of the car as she giggles, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. He tries to resist, tries to turn into a stiff, unbending statue. He's supposed to be mad at her. (Even though they both know he'd let her get away with murder.)

When Austin doesn't turn around and hug her back, Ally lets out a little pout, and he finds himself wondering how it's humanly possible for her to sound so blasted adorable yet turn him on so quickly. One of her hands wanders a little too close to his crotch, and a traitorous part of his mind wishes she'd move it just a bit lower…

_What?_ its sane counterpart sputters._ Here? In a parking lot?_

In answer to his silent prayers (or maybe just to drive him completely insane), Ally lets her hand drift to the buckle of his belt.

"Ally, what the hell are you doing?"

The leather strap falls to the ground. Her fingers drift to the fly of his jeans. A thumb slips under the waistband.

"Trying to show you how…_sorry_ I am."

His breath hitches, and he knows he's losing major masculinity points, but he really can't bring himself to care. Already his pants have become unbearably tight, and the fact that Ally is now unzipping them somehow only makes it worse, and there's a growing wet spot on the apex of his boxers… She's pressing kisses to the back of his neck, and her hand is palming him through his underwear in just the way she's long since found out drives him absolutely insane. He doesn't moan, doesn't give any indication that he's aware of what she's doing, but he _knows_ that she's smirking and that _she_ knows she's won.

After all, she's spent the past three years getting acquainted with his body, and she probably knows it better than he does at this point. She knows exactly what he loves, what he hates, and how to use that knowledge to her advantage. Love and hate typically blur into one anyway, the demarcation between them dissolving into nothing as quickly and completely as the space between their bodies. Especially whenever she makes eye contact with him from where she's propped between his legs on their bed, eyes twinkling as if to say, "You can give in now; we both know I win," because her mouth is otherwise occupied…

It's times like those that, on a scale of one to five, he'll rate her performance a seventy-quadrillion without hesitation. Because that's pretty much how many stars he sees by the time he's too worn out to go another round.

At the moment, her touch is feather-light, and he knows she's teasing _again_, so he clenches his fists and grits his teeth to hold back a groan and to keep from grinding himself into her hand. Because she always stops when he does that, refusing to continue unless he begs, and he always resists even though they both know he'll wind up begging anyway. Because he only comes when—if—she gives him permission to, and he really doesn't give a damn about how whipped that sounds because _holy shit_, her hand is now _in_ his boxers, and the feel of her skin against his is doing all sorts of crazy things to him, and he's _this_ close to swinging her around onto the hood of the car and ravishing her for everyone in this godforsaken building and the parking lot to see. Because Austin Moon refuses to go down without taking Ally Dawson with him. He won't go down without a fight.

_Oh dear god, the mental images of Ally's face whenever he goes down on her_…

(There are also times when she's writhing on her back and _his_ mouth and fingers are otherwise occupied, and he's supposed to be teasing her and relishing the power _he_ has over _her_, but then her little mewls and helpless whimpers are too much for him, and he caves and lets her have what she wants… Yeah, even when she's at his mercy, she still wins. He loves-hates that, too.)

She's not giggling anymore. Though her hand's movements are somewhat restricted by his boxers, her grip around his length is firmer now, no longer intended to torment. Part of him wishes that she'd push down his boxers so he can actually _see_ what she's doing to him, but then the reminder that she's currently pumping him in a parking lot, where anyone can stumble across them, sends a fresh thrill of arousal through him.

He starts grunting, thrusting his hips to meet her strokes, as the hand wrapped around him tightens even more, and her left hand snakes into his boxers, too. He nearly jumps a mile when her fingers close around his balls. (Was that a hiss of _steam_ he just heard, from the unbearable heat in his boxers making contact with the cool metal of her engagement ring?) His knees are visibly trembling, every neuron in his body screaming in pleasure and agony and begging for release, and he's gripping the edge of the car so hard, he swears he can feel the metal starting to dent.

"If you promise to come back to class without complaining," Ally whispers, "I'll let you have what you want."

Despite his herculean efforts, a moan escapes. He squeezes his eyes shut and grinds even more desperately against her hand.

"That's not a good enough answer."

Her grip slackens, the strokes stopping abruptly, and he finds himself whimpering—_whimpering!_—_nononononono_…

"Do you promise, Austin?"

He feels a thumb skating _ever so lightly_ across the tip of his erection. It's all he can do to manage a weak nod.

Satisfied, Ally tightens her grip on him and pumps faster. He doesn't even bother holding back his groans anymore. He's _so, so, so close_. He doesn't realize he's begging without even being asked to until he hears himself gasping, "Harder! _Please_, Ally, I need to you—_to_—_go_—_harder!_ _Please, please, please_ let me c—"

"Oh, look at that—it's almost three!" And then her hands are gone, and she's practically skipping towards the building doors. "Come on, Austin! We're going to be late for class!" she singsongs.

He's left staring at the aching bulge in his pants and sputtering, "What? B-but I thought you said I just had to promise, and you'd let me—"

"Yeah, well, I didn't specify _when_ I was going to let it happen, now did I?"

"You are going to _pay_ for that, Dawson."

* * *

"Well, look who finally decided to show up for class." Ally smirks as a glowering Austin makes his way back into the classroom and stops before her, the predicament in his pants noticeably absent now.

"It's not like you gave me any choice," he grumbles. "Where'd you put my keys anyway?"

She seems to look down demurely (the sunglasses she's wearing make it kind of hard to tell, and he's not sure whether it's a blessing or a curse that he can't see her eyes), but then she arches her back a little, and he realizes she's peeking down her own shirt.

_Gahhhh_…

"You know, Austin, for a guy who's had two orgasms in the span of twenty minutes—which I _must_ say is an incredible feat—you are uncharacteristically grumpy. Too bad I wasn't there to make them better."

"Just you wait, Ally. I _will_ get you back for that."

"Mm-hm. And how will you do that?" She leans forward to fold her hands across the table.

Her breasts brush the edge of the table.

He's seriously considering camping out in the men's room for the remainder of the class, but then the door opens, and the myth buster is back, so he sighs and takes his seat.

"Welcome back, everyone. For the second half of this class, I'm going to be answering questions that you've sent in, either through the review mailbox here on the podium or through private messaging. As per the usual drill, if you sat through the first half of class and found it too uncomfortable, you are not obligated to sit through this second half. If you just now wandered into this class after the break, you are more than welcome to join us, but please do keep in mind that there _is_ a sign posted to the door that reads, '**If you are in any way uncomfortable with frank discussions about sex and the anatomy of the female reproductive system, this is your chance to gracefully bow out.**' I and the creators of this course do not assume responsibility for any offense you may take from having ignored this warning. This class is purely for informative purposes and does not require you to edit your past stories to reflect the modern scientific understanding of sexuality."

No one in the audience moves to get up, so she shrugs and carries the box of reviews to the front of the room.

"One of you asked me to continue what I was saying about the G spot before the break, so I shall do that now before we get to the Q and A session. So. The G spot. Since the location and existence of the G spot is still disputed, there are several theories as to what it actually is and why a lot of women can't find theirs. One theory is that the G spot is an extension of the clitoris, which is actually a lot bigger on the inside than that one little pea-sized part you see on the outside. Since the clitoris is the primary source of pleasure in sex for females, it sort of makes sense for the inside portion of it to be close to the vagina.

"Another theory is that the G spot is not actually an erogenous zone—at least in the sense that it has more nerve endings than the rest of the vagina, since women who report to have found theirs say that lightly running your fingers against it doesn't really do anything; you have to actually press hard into it. And most men can't even hit this supposed G spot during intercourse in the missionary position because the angle's not right, unless the penis has a natural upward curve. So some experts theorize that the G spot is actually just a region inside the vagina that happens to be behind the urethra, so when you press up into this region, the pleasure is from the urethra responding to the pressure.

"On the same note, a third theory is that the G spot is a region inside the vagina that happens to be right next to something called the _Skene's gland_. This gland is something like the female equivalent of a prostate gland and drains into the urethra, and it would explain why women who have G spot orgasms swear on their life that female ejaculation is a real thing, whereas those who can't orgasm through intercourse alone swear on their life that female ejaculate is either just urine or complete BS. It turns out, women who supposedly have G spot orgasms have been found to have well-developed Skene's glands while women who can't seem to find their G spots either have really small Skene's glands or none at all.

"So yeah, the jury's still out on this one. The main takeaway is that, if you can't find your G spot, you don't need to sweat it. Most women can't orgasm through intercourse without additional direct stimulation to the clit anyway."

She lets out a deep breath. "Whew. Now that that's out of the way, let's get to the questions. Okay, so one of the younger writers, who doesn't want to be identified, asks, 'Is it true that you can tell how big a guy is _down there_ based on how big his hands and feet are? I see that a lot in fics and wasn't sure.'

"Yeah, this is one of the ones that I normally let slide because it's still a very prevalent myth, and everyone always writes Austin to be very _well-endowed _anyway, no matter what his hand or shoe size. But if you really want to get scientific…well, there are studies that show there's no correlation, but there are also studies that claim there is a correlation. For every study claiming that this myth has been debunked, there's another that claims it's true. But take into account the fact that there are a lot of different ways to measure a guy's length, and the fact that a guy's little buddy will change length in response to changes in temperature when a guy drops his pants, and a whole host of other sources of error, and your result is…a lot of noisy data.

"Anyway, more recent studies indicate that there's probably no correlation between length and hand or foot size. (If there is, the p-values are probably really high, so it's probably really statistically insignificant.) You can't actually tell the size of a guy's package by looking at his hands or feet or any part of his body besides, you know, his actual package. And just to give you a general idea of what's big and what's small, most guys can't boast 11 inches, no matter what porn may have you believe. (Seriously, please take everything you see or read in porn with several thousand grains of salt because the point of it is to get you hot and bothered, not to portray sex realistically.) The average length is reportedly somewhere around 5.5 and 6.5 inches, depending on whether it's being measured by physicians or just self-reported. That's more than enough to get the job done. The average vagina, when unaroused, is only about 3-4 inches deep. It'll lengthen when aroused to accommodate whatever is being inserted, but having the cervix—that is, the opening from the vagina to the uterus—bumped around by an unusually large object can hurt like the dickens because it can cause cramping in the uterus.

"And while we're on the subject, deeper isn't always better. The G spot, if it exists, really isn't that far in. There's no need for the guy to bury himself as far as he can because most of the nerve endings in the vagina are towards the entrance. She'll feel him further back, but it's more pressure than pleasure."

She reaches into the box to retrieve the next review. "Next up: A guest by the name of April says, 'Can we add that you can't get pregnant every time you have sex? There are normally only three days a month a girl can get pregnant. Also, you won't know you're pregnant until at least two weeks after conception, sometimes longer. It drives me crazy when I read that they have sex and the next morning there's a positive pregnancy test.'

"I've never read one of those, but wow, thanks for bringing this to my attention, April. So…first, let's address the part about only being able to get pregnant during a three-day window every month: Weeeelll, that's a bit disputed. For those of us who aren't familiar with the biology, the menstrual cycle is about twenty-eight-ish days long, counting from the first day of the menstrual period to the day before the next. Supposedly, there's a limited number of days during the cycle when pregnancy is possible, since the lining of the uterus gets shed off and the ovum gets dissolved when it isn't fertilized in time. Although, some experts will argue that a girl can technically get pregnant at any point during that cycle, even during menstruation. It's just that on some days, the chances of pregnancy are significantly reduced, and pregnancy resulting from having sex during one of those 'less fertile' days may be a fluke, a result of irregularities in the cycle. The likelihood of actually becoming pregnant, though, is dramatically increased in the three days leading up to and including ovulation, which happens about two weeks before the next period.

"And, um, as a disclaimer, I feel like now is a good time to advise everyone not to attempt to use the rhythm method—that is, not having sex before and during the days you are most fertile—as a reliable form of birth control. It only works for women whose cycles are regular and who are really careful about when they have sex. You can easily wind up pregnant.

"As for the second part of April's review: You can't test positive on a pregnancy test the very next day after you Do It, unless you've been Doing It very frequently for the last few weeks. And even then, a positive result would _not_ be due to any activities you engaged in the night before. The most common pregnancy tests measure for the human chorionic gonadotropin (hCG) hormone. These hormone levels do _not_ suddenly spike at the moment of fertilization, since fertilization takes place in the fallopian tubes, and the zygote still has to travel down to the uterus and implant, a process that takes five to eight days. And hCG is produced by the placenta, which actually takes about two weeks to develop, starting from the moment of fertilization. And before all _that_ can even happen, the sperm has to spend about a day traveling through the vaginal canal, the cervix, and the uterus and into the fallopian tubes to reach the ovum. So unless Ally's hormones are out of whack for reasons not related to pregnancy (for example, some cancers), she shouldn't be testing positive the very next morning. Technically, hCG can be detected in the urine one to two weeks after conception, but she shouldn't even begin suspecting enough to take a pregnancy test until a few weeks later, when she misses a period.

"This next part is unrelated to April's review, but something just occurred to me, and I wanted to nip it in the bud before some of the younger audience members start getting any ideas. So while we're on the subject of pregnancy, 'morning sickness' is a misnomer. For the first six weeks, nausea and vomiting can occur at _any_ time of day or night. If Ally's throwing up in the mornings only, she's one lucky duck.

"Also, sperm can't survive long at normal internal body temperature or at the pH inside the female reproductive tract. (That's kind of why the scrotum is outside the body—so that testes temperature can be maintained at two to four degrees Celsius lower than body temperature.) Sperm remain viable and capable of fertilization for only one to two days following intercourse. So for those of you younger writers out there, please don't write about Ally getting pregnant from Austin's sperm that's still swimming around inside her from that time they Did It months ago. Unless Austin has somehow figured out how to produce remarkably heat-resistant, acidity-resistant mutant sperm. In which case he should consult a doctor ASAP, and you should mark your story as 'fantasy' and warn me to stay as far away from it as possible. _Capisce_?"

(At this, Ally emits a tiny groan and mumbles to Austin, "I love our fans—I really do—but, _ugh_…")

"Next up, a lovely human being who goes by the name of 'Bolero' writes, 'Can we also mention that WOMEN DO NOT HAVE A PROSTATE? I actually read a fanfiction where Austin hit Ally's prostate during anal sex. I think this was just a sloppy cut and paste, but seriously…'

"Oh gosh, wow. Just when you think you've seen it all. Okay, yeah, a little information about male reproductive anatomy, y'all: Sperm is expelled in the form of a fluid known as 'semen,' which is a mix of spermatozoa and seminal fluid. Three glands inside the male body contribute to this seminal fluid: the seminal vesicles, the bulbourethral glands, and the prostate gland. The seminal vesicles secrete a fructose-rich fluid that serves as an energy source for the sperm so that they can swim to the ovum. The bulbourethral glands secrete a small amount of viscous fluid prior to ejaculation—this would be what writers colloquially refer to as 'precum.' The function of this secretion is still unknown, although it's suspected either to help with lubrication or to de-acidify the urethra so that trace amounts of urine don't harm the sperm when they come through. And finally, the prostate gland releases a milky, slightly alkaline fluid that protects the sperm from the acidic environment of the female reproductive tract.

"I mentioned earlier that the Skene's gland might be the female equivalent of a prostate gland, but it's something a lot of women don't seem to have. And while the prostate is essential for sperm survival, female ejaculate (if it exists) doesn't really serve a purpose in terms of aiding reproductive success, seeing as not all women experience it, and the _homo sapiens_ species has propagated for millennia just fine without it. So the consensus is that women do not have prostates. Therefore, Austin cannot hit Ally's prostate during anal sex."

(Cue dying animal noises from Ally, whose face is now buried in her hands, followed by Austin muttering, "When we get home, I'm going to block all fanfiction sites from our laptops and phones.")

"Next, another guest asks, 'What's with the fics about Austin releasing or burying himself in Ally's womb?'"

("Oh for the love of pickles, people actually write that? Austin, this is horrible!" "I told you we should've bolted when we had the chance!")

"…I don't know, Guest. I really don't know. But when I read an otherwise perfectly good story in which Austin 'pounds repeatedly into her womb,' I don't think, 'Ooh, how hot.' I think, '_Ouch!'_ So let's clear things up, shall we? A vagina is a vagina. A womb is a womb. The two are not interchangeable. The womb—uterus—is the chamber in which a fetus is supposed to grow, separated from the vaginal canal by the cervix. _So please stop writing about Austin burying himself in Ally's womb._ It's physically impossible."

"This is horrible!" Ally repeats, her face still in her hands.

Austin moves to comfort her, but then he stops as a wicked smirk forms across his face. "…Even as horrible as me, uh, jerking off earlier in the parking lot and getting cum all over your car?"

She looks up at that. "_What?"_

"Hey, you left me out there with no choice! I couldn't walk back in here with a raging boner the size of Russia. It was either on the car or in my own pants."

"But—couldn't you have…" She flails her hands around, searching for the right words. "I don't know—couldn't you have done it in the trees instead or…_something_?"

"Ally dear, in case you forgot, you dragged me out to a sex-ed class against my will. And you teased me mercilessly—_twice_—and left me no other option but to take care of myself. _Twice_. So I did. On your car. As retribution."

"But _all over my car?"_

"_Weeeelll_…okay, technically it wasn't _all_ over the car. But there wound up being a decently-sized patch of it on the door. And the windshield. It's pretty noticeable, actually."

"_What?"_

"I would've…cleaned up after myself, but I didn't have any Kleenex on me, and I couldn't get to the emergency stash of napkins you keep in the glove compartment because _you_ took my keys."

"…"

"Okay, okay, I'm kidding!"

"Ugh, you are _so_ sleeping on the couch tonight."

"But I didn't actually do it!"

"Which is why you're sleeping on the couch _tonight_ and not the _entire week_."

"Aw, come on, Ally!"

She huffs and crosses her arms. "I'm not speaking to you."

He realizes she's turning her face away to hide her smile, so he nudges a note at her.

_$20 says you'll forgive me before this class is over._

Keeping her face averted, she flips him the middle finger, but he doesn't miss the way her shoulders shake as she fights back a giggle.

He tries again._ Winner gets to decide what we're having for dinner tonight? :D_

With a sigh, she turns back around and scribbles down a reply. _That's a stupid bet. We both know you're going to say pancakes, and I'm going to want pickles, and then we'll just compromise and order pizza anyway. And I'm not forgiving you._

_Well then, let's bet on something else. Something to raise the stakes._

_What do you have in mind? _

_If I can make you cum under the desk before this class is over, then I win._

* * *

**A/N:** Reviews are awesome.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** And now the final installment. Sorry this one took so long to finish. It's kind of hard to write smut and keep things "in the mood" when you have to interrupt it in the middle with a Q&A session. Especially when said Q&A session involves a PSA on STDs.

(In my defense, I _did_ warn you that this fic was going to be weird. You can gloss over the ginormous blocks of monologue in the middle if you're just here for the smut.)

Usual disclaimer applies.

**NSFW. As always, if you are in any way uncomfortable with smut or frank discussions about sex and the anatomy of the female reproductive system, this is your chance to bolt.**

* * *

**The Birds and the Tease  
3/3**

* * *

_If I can make you cum under the desk before this class is over, then I win._

She squeaks as he lifts the hem of her skirt and starts massaging her thigh, his eyes nonchalantly trained forward and feigning paying attention to the lecture. "Austin," she gasps, "_here_? In the middle of class? Surrounded by people who might recognize us?"

His fingers inch up her leg, ghosting along her covered slit, hooking under the waistband of her underwear and slowly tugging it past her knees, passing lightly over the tuft of hair on their way down, and then inching back upward.

"Funny," he purrs, "I don't remember _you_ having qualms about teasing me _here_, in the middle of class, surrounded by people who might recognize us."

He lets his hand skim over her inner thighs, his smug expression broadening at how slippery they already are.

She tries not to squirm too much at his touch. It'll only encourage him. Her only hope is to not let him know he's affecting her—to completely ignore the way his fingers are moving closer and closer to her center, and to pretend she's not at all aware of the waterfall between her legs. Covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a whimper, she tries her mightiest to focus on the instructor, part of her desperately wanting to win the bet but most of her craving more, rapidly descending into insanity.

His hand is so close. So_ close_…

She's so hopeless.

But that's okay. Totally. Of course it is. She still has enough sanity left to push his hand away if she _really_ wants to…as long as he keeps it on her thigh and doesn't move it any closer…

Yeah, right.

"This," Austin whispers, rubbing his fingers just outside her entrance, coating them with her juices, and eliciting from her a sharp intake of breath, "is for tormenting me earlier today. But it's _my_ turn now. And unlike you, I'm a _nice_ person, so I'm actually going to _make sure you cum_."

And then he plunges first one finger, then another, into her. He begins sliding them in and out, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing ever so gently.

Ally lets out a hiss, gripping the edge of the table tightly to keep from full-on riding his fingers in the middle of class. A glance up at the clock tells her that she still has to endure twenty minutes of this. Just twenty more minutes, and then class will be over, and then she can finally let go—

His thumb alternates between swift taps and firm circles as a third finger slides into her, and suddenly, she's not sure if she's going to last more than a minute. All memory of their bet is wiped from her mind, all coherent thought obliterated, except for _Why isn't he going down on me yet?_

And it's not long before she's incapable of even _that_ thought.

She doesn't feel him do it, but she _knows_ that he has just curled his fingers upward to hit that elusive spot inside her because the next instant, her knee jolts up, almost striking the underside of the table. And then he does it again…and again…and again, all the while maintaining his thumb's onslaught on her clit, and she has to bite her own fingers to keep them from drifting down to her breasts to finish the job.

She may be close, but she's not about to do something that she can't hide under her skirt. Not when she's in the back of a crowded room full of her own fans who might turn around at any second and—

_Oh, to hell with it!_

"Absolutely not," Austin growls, intercepting the hand that's attempting to snake under her blouse. "You don't get to cum until _I_ let you, sweetheart."

"Au-Austin!" she practically whines in protest.

And suddenly, his fingers are pulling out completely, and she barely suppresses a shriek of frustration. "Yes, Ally?" he responds innocently. "Do you want me to stop? Because I can do that."

The tips of her fingers are still seated just outside her entrance, but he moves them away when she scoots lower in her chair, trying to take them back in.

"Use your words, Ally. Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"I want…"

"Spit it out. _What do you want?_"

His voice is shaking. Damn.

"I want your fingers inside me," she chokes out, feeling her cheeks burn. The words feel foreign to her tongue, as she's usually begging him to make sweet, gentle love to her, but she knows without a doubt that there's nothing else in the entire world she craves more right now. (Well, except for him to fuck her senseless. But that's going to have to wait _at least_ until they make it out to the car, so she'll take what she can get.)

But instead of complying with her wish, he pulls his hand out from under her skirt entirely. "Now, now, settle down, Ally. The point of a bet is to win, right? You could at least _try_ to make it a challenge for me."

"But you…you—_ugh!_"

"Shh… We've still got fifteen minutes. You should be grateful that I'm giving you a chance to win. Besides, this is an absolutely _fascinating_ sex-ed class you wouldn't want to miss, remember?"

So it's going to be _this_, huh? He's going to drag it out until the very end and have her squirming and begging for release? Begging to lose? Because he knows that he'll win either way? That she'll lose the bet if she climaxes, but she'll miss out on an orgasm if she wins the bet?

_Fine_. But it'll be on him when he's spending the night on the couch without a blanket.

"I hate you," she mouths to him.

He just gives her hair a cheeky tug and turns back around to listen to the absolutely _fascinating_ lecture.

"…Bree says, 'Something I'd really like to know more about are STDs so I was wondering if you could dig into that topic a little bit?' Well, we only have a few more reviews left to go. Sure, why not? But first of all, depending on where you're from, 'health' classes in public schools may or may not have glossed over topics like sex and actual intercourse. I, for one, learned nothing in sixth grade Health because it basically boiled down to 'Vegetables are good for you. Alcohol and tobacco are bad for you. It's the job of the guy to fertilize the girl's eggs. This makes babies, kthxbai,' and at age eleven, we were all like a bunch of confused puppies because we had no idea what was going on or what fertilization was and _why the heck are they showing us pictures of people's private parts?_

"But I'm willing to bet that most high school sex-ed classes will spend _some_ time going over STDs and STIs and how to prevent them. There won't be enough time for me to go too in-depth on this topic, but I'm sure your school nurse, pediatrician, primary care physician, or gynecologist will be more than happy to provide you with a host of pamphlets on the topic if you ask. So I won't waste time going over all the different types of infections and parasites that cause such diseases because that information is readily available, and even people who think sex is a taboo topic of conversation will gladly regale you with horrific tales of STDs to promote their 'abstinence-only' agenda. These tales probably won't be as scientifically accurate as information from your doctor or nurse. (Coach Carr from _Mean Girls_, anyone? 'You're going to want to touch each other. But if you do touch each other, you _will_ get chlamydia. And die.') But they'll at least tell you what an STI is and what kinds are out there.

"And second of all, I'm not going to be using STI and STD interchangeably here, so here's the difference between STDs and STIs: As we all should know, _STD_ stands for 'sexually transmitted disease,' and _STI_ stands for 'sexually transmitted infection.' More recently, experts have taken to using STI instead of STD. The reason for the name change is that many infections don't immediately result in symptoms in a majority of people who contract them, but they can still be transmitted through sexual contact with these asymptomatic carriers. So contracting an STI does not necessarily mean you'll get an STD, but it does mean that someone else who gets the infection _can_ develop the disease.

"Also, before we get to the myth busting, I feel obligated to do another PSA: If you're going to have sex, please always be honest when sharing your sexual history with each of your partners. And please do use protection if either one of you has been with other people in the past and hasn't seen the gynecologist for a clean bill of health lately. And visit the OB/GYN regularly for screening if you're sexually active. And keep in mind that some sexually transmitted infections, such as pubic lice, can't be prevented by a condom.

"And if you have an STI, _for the love of Pete_, don't assume it'll just go away just because you don't have any sores or rashes or warts or blisters or whatever other symptoms _at the moment_. Get it treated ASAP before it spreads to other parts of your body and results sterility or death. The most frequently diagnosed bacterial STI in the U.S. is chlamydia, which is largely asymptomatic, at least on the outside, but causes scar tissue to build up in the fallopian tubes. In fact, many STIs are asymptomatic and don't manifest as STDs. But serious damage can be done to one's reproductive organs, whether or not there are symptoms.

"Now for the myth busting. The number one myth that drives me absolutely bananas? 'You can only get STDs from actual intercourse.' Wrong. Any exposure to genitalia or bodily fluids puts you at risk for infection. Infants can most definitely contract HIV during the birthing process if the mother is infected. And intravenous drug use is another common way in which infections such as HIV and Hepatitis B and C are spread. Additionally, the hepatitis virus is very hardy. You can feasibly contract the virus through an open wound or mucous membrane by accidentally making contact with a dried drop of blood containing this virus after it's had a _year_ of exposure to air. And my school nurse once brought up a case where a woman had herpes in her mouth (most likely contracted during oral sex) but then touched her eye after touching her mouth and wound up becoming blind in that eye.

"An equally dangerous myth is 'You can't get STDs if you're on the Pill.' Wrong, wrong, wrong! The Pill is only for hormonal birth control. It _in no way_ protects you from sexually transmitted infections. And while we're on the subject, using two condoms at the same time does not reduce your chances of blocking an STI. In fact, condoms are designed to only be used one at a time. Using two together results in more friction on the rubber and increases the likelihood that _both_ condoms break.

"Next, 'You can get herpes from a toilet seat.' Wrong again. Herpes is spread through direct skin-to-skin contact. I mean, sure, you should check to make sure the seat is dry and clean-ish, but you probably don't need to worry about herpes. Unless you're physically using the toilet at the same time as an infected person, contracting herpes from a toilet seat is pretty much impossible. So if someone in a supposedly monogamous marriage suddenly tests positive when neither he nor his spouse did in the past, he's a _lying liar who lies_ if he claims he got it from a toilet seat.

"These were just a few of the most prevalent myths, so I'm going to move on now for the sake of time. But if you have more specific questions, feel free to ask your school nurse or doctor or check out the American Sexual Health Association's website."

She retrieves two more slips of paper from the review box.

"Moving on. Glitter Girl asks, 'Is it really possible to climax after two minutes of whatever, whether it be oral or intercourse?' And along the same lines, another reviewer who goes by 'Krystal' asks, 'How long, or how much does it take for someone to reach their orgasm during sexual intercourse or during masturbation? I've read fics where it talked about how Austin almost came in his pants once he saw Ally for the first time that night, and I was wondering just how far off it was.'

"In answer to the question about how much it takes, I think it really depends on the person. I personally know a girl who has never been able to climax during intercourse and who has a really hard time getting there even on her own. She says she's pretty sure she knows what she's doing, so it's probably because she's really just not that sensitive. Yet on the other end of the spectrum…well, researchers have found that it is possible for some women to orgasm without even being touched south of the equator. That is, they can orgasm just from stimulation to the breasts, and some even claim to be able to orgasm just from _thinking_ about it. Maybe it's true for a tiny minority, or maybe it's just BS, but you can't possibly or reliably survey every woman in the world, so I think it's safer to throw these things under the umbrella of 'Everybody's unique, so just roll with whatever!'

"As for how long it takes, I think the part where Austin 'almost came in his pants when he saw Ally' (if the story you're talking about is the one I think you're talking about) was more of a hyperbole. I'm pretty sure it goes without saying that you can't have an orgasm without being aroused first, guys especially. And despite the location of the parts you use to have sex, orgasm is largely something that happens in your brain. Psychologists theorize that there are four stages in the sexual response cycle—excitement, plateau, orgasm, and resolution. A person has to reach the first two before being able to orgasm, but there isn't a fixed minimum amount of time for exactly how long it has to take to build up because that would depend on the individuals involved and how hard they're going at it.

"Also, since I'm a girl, I can't be entirely sure about the situation for guys, but I can say for certain that I have never met a guy who has admitted to climaxing almost immediately. Maybe it's because it's impossible to orgasm without taking at least _some_ time to build it up, or maybe they find it embarrassing to admit to reaching the breaking point so quickly. In general, though, I remember reading somewhere that guys tend to orgasm more quickly than girls during intercourse, which would make sense because intercourse is more directly pleasurable for guys than it is for most girls, for reasons I'll get to in a minute.

"Another thing to take into account when you're talking about how long it takes would be the amount of time they invest into foreplay. So, in answer to Glitter Girl's question, if you count the time spent on foreplay as part of the total time spent having sex (and most people do), then, no, I don't imagine it would be normal to be done after two minutes. If a couple spends forever and a half doing the foreplay part, then, yes, it could be possible to climax two minutes after moving on from foreplay because they spent so long in an aroused state. It might be _possible_ for a guy to _ejaculate_ early, but that sounds more like a case of premature ejaculation (because ejaculation and orgasm are not the same thing), and he should probably get that checked out."

She draws out another review.

"Our next question is also from Glitter Girl. 'I see in pretty much every fic that the clit automatically makes a girl come…I heard it hurts for some chicks because it's too sensitive, and I'm getting confused, so can you clear this up?' Yeah…I'm going to go into a side rant about the clitoris now because the sex-ed program they made me go through in public high school didn't utter a peep about it. **So to those of you who are uncomfortable with the radical notion that girls should be able to enjoy sex as much as guys do, either cover your ears or save your fantasy world the trouble and go wait out in the hall until I'm done, okay?**"

No one makes a move to leave, so the instructor shrugs, muttering, "Suit yourselves," before climbing onto a table.

"Now, like I mentioned earlier, more often than not, a girl can't orgasm through intercourse alone. In the 1970s, sexologist Shere Hite found that 70% of women do not achieve orgasm through just intercourse. So if you're a girl and find yourself in this category, don't worry. The other 30% are the weirdoes. Furthermore, more recent research has found that women reach orgasm _most_ often by masturbation or self-manipulation, secondly by manipulation by their partner, thirdly by oral sex, and _least_ often by actual intercourse.

"That's because, on the female body, the parts that make sex pleasurable are _not_ located on the parts that you actually use to have sex. Most of the nerve endings in the vagina are located near the opening, not further back. But real party is at the clitoris, which most people understand to be a small bundle of about 8000 nerve endings.

"Actually, that's only a small part of the clitoris. The majority is inside the body, a network of fibers that wander away from the little bit you see on the outside. The primary function of the clit seems to be to give women pleasure (it probably has no other function), but what kind of sucks is that it's located away from the place where intercourse actually happens. So more often than not, either the guy or the girl is going to have to find a way to stimulate it in addition to the normal activities involved in skoodilypooping. (By the way, I do not claim ownership of this euphemism. That most likely goes to John Green's grandmother.)

"Now, from what I've seen, most writers on the A-and-A fandom seem to know what they're doing when it comes to knowing what to do with the clitoris: mainly, _not_ treating it like some kind of magic button. But I'm going to say it anyway, because who knows what kind of people are in this audience? I've been on fandoms where the average fan fiction writer is much better than one on A-and-A, but then someone will write that the guy 'pushes down on it' and the girl implodes, and then I just make like a Nopetopus and skedaddle because _you're doing it wrong._

"Anyhow, the clitoris is a bit complicated. Sometimes it likes being touched; sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it feels numb; other times it's so sensitive that it hurts when touched. But _it is not a magic button_. It should not be pressed for magic results to instantly occur.

"The whole 'magic button' thing really pisses me off, actually. The clitoris is not a magic button, nor should it be pushed like one. Guys who are unfamiliar with female reproductive anatomy and buy into the 'magic button' thing are doing it wrong. _There are no magic buttons_. That idea is a load of crap invented by men who think sex is purely for the guy's enjoyment, and as long as the guy is enjoying it, it's all good and dandy because all he has to do is push the 'magic button' to make the girl like it, too. It's the lazy man's way of saying, 'Nah, I don't have to put in any effort to make her enjoy it, too, because all I need to do is push the magic button.'

"…And now that I've used 'magic button' seven times in eight sentences, I really want to go brush my teeth."

(She settles for a stick of gum.)

"The reality is that, since the clitoris is so sensitive, stimulating it the wrong way (i.e. treating it like a button by pushing down) is painful. And merely touching it the right way (a way that feels good to her and doesn't hurt) is not an automatic train ticket to O-town, either. If they've been going at it for a while now, and the arousal has been building up, and she's almost there, just needs a _little_ more, the guy can keep touching her there, and that can be enough for her to climax. But they have to build it up first. Anything less is laziness or misguidance on his part.

"Okay, I'll get off my soapbox now. Next question…"

Above the door, the hands on the clock crawl forward ever so slowly. Ally tries her best not to squirm in her seat. Seven minutes. There are only seven minutes left in class, and Austin has yet to make good on his promise to win their bet. He must be extremely confident in his skills. That, or he's forgotten completely about it.

While she would be more than happy to let the next seven minutes slip away for the sake of beating him at his own game, the aching need between her legs has returned with a vengeance, and having his hands on her—his fingers _in_ her—is starting to feel like a life-sustaining necessity. A necessity he's currently denying her, in favor of paying attention in class like the star pupil he never was.

What is _wrong_ with her? She's sitting in on a sex-ed class, for which her father got her _free gift certificates_—a _wedding present_, no less!—yet all she can pay attention to is her _lady parts_ clamoring for Austin's attention? It's all his fault anyway. She only teased him because, well, who asked him to look so completely delectable today? A pair of snug dark jeans _and_ a plaid shirt that he _knows_ drives her completely insane? He only ever wears that particular shirt around the house whenever he _wants_ her to tear it off him and discard it on the bedroom floor. Or the bathroom floor, when they're feeling adventurous. Or the kitchen floor, when he _really_ wants to bug her.

(Come to think of it, that shirt spends more time getting torn off Austin than it does clothing him.)

Can anyone blame her for wanting to even the score?

Austin must have noticed her squirming because he suddenly leans in to coo, "Aw, _poor Ally_. Does this class get you all hot and bothered? Or was it just me?"

"Shut up," she grumbles, trying to cross her legs.

The table's too low. She winces as she smacks into the underside, but luckily, no one pays her any attention.

She settles for squeezing her knees together instead.

Oops. That was a bad idea, too. Now her underwear, already tugged down from Austin's earlier shenanigans, is pooling around her ankles in plain view for anyone who might turn around. And in order to lean down and tug it back under her skirt, she's going to have to scoot her chair back and make that _lovely_ nails-on-a-chalkboard sound against the floor and possibly turn every head in the classroom.

In the end, she awkwardly rests her chin on the tabletop and stretches her hand down as far as she can reach, feeling around blindly for the waistband.

Austin chuckles at her dilemma. "Still want to win that bet?"

"Yes," she spits defiantly.

"You know you brought this upon yourself, right?"

She hisses in frustration as she realizes she won't be able to pull her underwear all the way back up without pushing back her chair and standing up. "You won't be laughing when I'm locking you out of our room tonight."

"Hmm, I don't know about that, dear. There's still five minutes left in class, and we still haven't decided on the terms of our bet."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm _saying_, if—_when_—I win this bet, I won't have to spend tonight—or _any_ night—on the couch anymore."

"No way."

"Too bad."

And then his hand is back under her skirt, and she has to disguise her moan as a fake yawn as his fingers run from her entrance to her clit, circling it a couple times before trailing back down to dip just the tips in.

In a matter of seconds, she's panting and writhing again and nearly crying out when his fingers suddenly stop moving.

"Au-Austin! Don't stop!" she pleads.

He smirks. "I don't know, Ally. It's _awfully_ tempting to just leave you like this as payback. Besides, you're going to banish me from our room tonight regardless of whether or not you cum. Why should I let you have all the fun?"

She whimpers, arching in her seat and trying to grind her hips into his hand.

"If you agree to my terms, then I'll let you have what you want."

"But then you'll win anyway! How's that fair?"

He shrugs. "Then I guess we're done here."

She clamps her thighs around his wrist to prevent him from removing his hand. "No, please, Austin! I'll stop teasing you—I'll accept your terms—anything!"

"Hmm, that sounds _awfully_ tempting. But there's one more thing I want…If I win, _I_ get to decide what we're having for dinner, and we're _not_ going to compr—"

"I accept!" She writhes harder. "Austin, come _on!"_

A sigh of mock resignation. "Oh, all right. But only because I feel sorry for you. I really _am_ too nice."

He resumes his ministrations, cutting off her indignant retort before she can get out a single syllable. With renewed urgency, the pad of his index finger, slightly calloused from all those years he spent mastering practically every musical instrument known to man, circles repeatedly around her most sensitive spot as if _she_ were his latest musical conquest, while his next two fingers plunge mercilessly in and out of her tight warmth.

She bites down on her fingers to stifle her panting. She can feel the beginnings of her orgasm threatening to break loose and bucks harder into his hand, desperately trying to will herself over the edge while at the same time desperately trying to hold back.

It's official. He's driving her crazy. (But somewhere in a foggy corner of her mind, she knows that they both already knew that.)

"You can cum any time now," he breathes. He seems to be fighting to retain his composure, too, judging from the size of the tent in his jeans. "Ally, you're so fucking wet and tight. I _know_ you're close."

Oh, she's not _close_—she's _past_ the point of no return now. It's become a matter of _when_, not _if_, she comes. She only has two options: plummet over the edge right now, or throw everything she has into holding it off, letting it swell out of control like a river raging against a dam in an increasingly heavy rainstorm, and hope that she can last long enough. _One minute to go._ Just _one_ more minute, and then she can let go in what'll probably become the most mind-blowing orgasm of her life. She can handle one minute…right?

Apparently Austin has the ability to warp time and reality. She's squeezing her eyes shut and clenching every muscle in her body, desperate to keep her head above the water, but when she finally risks another peek at the clock after what feels like an eternity and a half, she finds that only ten seconds have passed.

He groans almost inaudibly as she clenches around his fingers in an effort to stave off the inevitable.

"Show me how much you like this and cum for me," he growls, redoubling his thumb and forefinger's assault on her clit.

That does it. She falls apart, thighs convulsing, teeth clamping over her hand and _somehow_ managing to muffle a cry as the sensations ripple over her. The shockwaves are so powerful that she can actually _feel_ herself contracting around him, soaking his already sodden fingers in a fresh wave of her juices…

The first thing she sees when she comes down from her high is Austin's _I win_ smirk as he licks his fingers clean.

Then her head clears a little more, and she notices that people are starting to stand up and gather their things, and the instructor is erasing the chalkboard.

Oh, right. _Now_ class is over.

Tugging her underwear back up, Ally shakily rises out of her seat to follow the crowd that's shuffling out the door.

"That was just an appetizer, but it's cute that you think I'm finished with you already."

She jumps as her fiancé's arms suddenly snake around her waist from behind and pull her flush against him. And then a pair of large hands clamps onto her hips, and a certain warm, stiff, and _very_ familiar something is grinding into her backside, and he's nibbling on the shell of her ear and whispering,

"_We're having pancakes tonight. And sex."_

* * *

**A/N:** Whelp, I hope you enjoyed that. Be a doll and leave me a review?


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